


the hanging tree

by comefeedtherainn



Series: The Hanging Tree Series [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, POV Alternating, Sort Of, in which i do a complete overhaul of mary gillis, mary haters dont clown, part of a 3 fic series going from pre to current to post canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comefeedtherainn/pseuds/comefeedtherainn
Summary: Choices are the needlework, life the patches sewn. Death, life, sickness, health, happiness, despair. Each a needle, a color of string, a style of stitch. We are not always given a choice of fabric, but we can decide how the scraps come together, in the end.(What if Mary Gillis had made a different choice?)
Relationships: Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan
Series: The Hanging Tree Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996021
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	1. lovers and dreamers

**MARY**

Mary Gillis stumbles down the steps of her father's house, her heeled boots sinking into the mud that stains the hem of her dress. Rain pelts her from overhead, soaking her hair through within moments and masking the tears on her cheeks. She takes weak, stuttering breaths as curses and the sound of bottles being thrown against solid wood follow her out the door, her father neck deep in his latest bender and practically spitting fire in her wake. Serves her right for daring to point out that he'd had a few too many, she supposes, wiping her cheeks fruitlessly and sniffling as she stands in the rain, soaked and pathetic. Hell will freeze over before she goes back into that house, though.

Mary turns her feet in whatever direction they like at that split second, and begins to walk.

The lights and sounds of the nearby town (known mostly for livestock and gambling, she's noticed) draw her, the only place that makes sense to go in the middle of the night. While the rest of the town is dark and sleeping, the saloon is vibrant and noisy, shouting and clinking glass floating out of the door dreamily. Mary has never been inside of a saloon before, though she is recently twenty one and girls much younger than her work inside of them. Father is protective. Or maybe possessive. She can never quite decide.

She stands awkwardly outside, shielded from the heavy rain by the overhang but still soaked straight through and shivering. She ought to warm up, she reasons, and it certainly feels warmer inside. She should definitely go in. It would be responsible to go in. Another moment of talking herself into it and Mary pushes her way through the doors, jumping as she lets them go and they swing back into place with a clatter. No one seems to pay her any mind, though, the saloon absolutely heaving with intoxicated men and giggling working girls. The air overhead is hazy with smoke, and her shoes stick to the floor as she walks, remnants of spilled alcohol left to dry. Mary smiles a bit, a thrill running through her that has nothing to do with the freezing water she is dripping onto the floor.

She begins to make her way toward the bar, barely visible to her when she stands on her tiptoes. She worms her way through the crowd of bodies, nudging her way past men that practically dwarf her but don't pay her much attention, for the moment. It is a tight fit, the late hour meaning that most of the patrons are getting quite rowdy. She gasps when someone barrells into her from behind, sloshing beer onto her already wet shoulder and sending her careening into a man leaning on the corner of the bar. He exclaims something in surprise, though she can't make it out over all the noise, and catches her by her arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she gasps, trying to straighten up and avoiding his eyes just in case he is drunk and ornery. She certainly knows all about drunk and ornery men. "I'm sorry, it was an accident."

"That's alright, miss. You okay?"

She nods, risking a glance up and pausing as she finds herself caught in blue eyes, framed by heavy brows that furrow with concern. She is so distracted by admiring the equally lovely jaw, cheekbones, and full lips that she doesn't hear what the boy has said until he repeats himself. 

"Miss, I said you're soaked," he points out. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replies finally, standing up on her feet again and nodding when he slowly lets her go. "Yes, I'm fine. Just got...caught in the rain."

He looks her over, one thick eyebrow lifting. "Okay. If you say so. Uh...what's your name?"

"Mary Gillis," she replies, holding out her hand to shake. He smiles and shakes it, even though it is a bit damp.

"Arthur Morgan. Care for a drink, Miss Gillis? Maybe a, uh, towel?"

She laughs quietly, shrugging and looking down to the surface of the bar as her cheeks burn. "That sounds alright, yes."

"Okay," says Arthur Morgan, laughing himself as he waves over the bartender. "Can I get two more whiskeys, and a clean towel, if you've got one."

"I thougth you were joking," Mary snickers, covering her face with her hands as the bartender hurries off. "I'm so embarrassed!"

"Nah, don't be embarrassed!" he insists, his grin crooked. "Just don't want you drippin' all over the floor while we talk."

She smiles, giving him a look as she leans her crossed arms against the bar. "You seem awful convinced I wanna hang around strange men in saloons."

Arthur snorts once. "Tell you the truth, miss, you don't much look the type to come in a saloon at all. But, well. You did make me spill my drink."

Mary blinks, noticing that Arthur's boots are a bit shiny with spilled liquor. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't think on it. You can make it up to me by staying to chat," he says, giving her that same charming, crooked smile. She narrows her eyes in return, though the corner of her mouth curls upward.

"Oh, I suppose, Mister Morgan."

The bartender returns, then, placing two glasses of whiskey in front of them. He also produces a clean tea towel, handing it to Mary as it is obviously for her. She takes it with a sheepish smile, glaring playfully at Arthur when he snickers at her.

"It's not polite to tease a lady, Mister Morgan."

"Probably not. I ain't known for manners, Miss Gillis."

They step away from the bar when it begins to get crowded, instead finding a mostly sparse corner to stand. Mary pulls out the braid in her hair, leaning over slightly so she can begin to squeeze water from the strands. She is grateful, despite the teasing, when she is no longer dripping quite so profusely.

"Thank you," she says, smiling up at Arthur when she straightens again. "Not quite dry, but much better than before."

"Don't mention it. What was you doin' out in all that, anyway?"

She shrugs again, taking a sip of whiskey. "Wanted to get some air, I suppose."

"Uh huh. Alright, I won't pry. So long as your husband ain't gonna come stab me."

"No, no husband to speak of," she snickers. "So. What do you do, Mister Morgan?"

"Arthur. And I'm uh. Well I'm a bit of a wanderer, I guess. Get work where I can."

Mary takes another long drink of whiskey, observing him over the lip of her glass. "I see."

He doesn't reply, instead snorting as he watches her finish off her glass. "You sure can drink, Miss Gillis."

"Mary."

"Right. Mary."

"Shall we go get another?" she suggests, smiling brightly as she hands Arthur her glass. He takes the hint and shakes his head in amusment, leading the way back to the bar to get them both a refill.

Mary leans against a spare space on the bar again, taking a moment to get a good look at Arthur Morgan. He is awfully tall, with broad shouders and interesting hands. That is a strange observation to make, she notes dryly to herself, but they are. He looks like someone who's seen a lot of the rougher parts of life, but came out on the other side still holding onto his silly, crooked grin. Arthur seems to feel her eyes on him and glances at her out of the corner of his own. She smirks and looks away, acting casual and knowing she is fooling no one. He at least has the deceny not to point it out, and only laughs at her a little bit.

"You live around here, Miss Gillis?"

"Mary. And yes, I live on the outskirts of town," she nods, taking a healthy sip of her fresh whiskey. "With my father, and younger brother."

"Brother, huh? How old?"

"Five years old."

"Lucky. Mine's thirteen, he's a pain in the ass."

Mary laughs, her cheeks flushed and head a bit fuzzy with drink by now. It's nice, though. It also helps that she is finally starting to warm up. "You've got a brother, too?"

"Sort of, yeah," Arthur shrugs. "My family's kinda slapped together. Band of loners who all found each other. We picked John up a year or so ago."

She rests her chin on her hand as she watches him talk, his lips moving extremely interesting. "I see. You're a very mysterious man, Arthur Morgan."

He snorts derisively. "I don't know about that. Shifty, maybe. But mysterious?"

"Very mysterious," she giggles, her arm pressing up against Arthur's. She can almost hear her father screaming at her that she is a whore, which frankly makes her want to do it more. Besides, Arthur is kind, and funny. Not the worst company she's ever kept. "Are you from around here, too?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Nah. We just got here a few days ago. Probably gonna stay for a while but, not sure how long. We tend to roam."

"Where were you before?" 

"Up north," Arthur says vaguely. "We're headed west. Trying to get a hold of some land, maybe."

"Some land," Mary repeats in interest, still absolutely enthralled with just watching him talk. He has the nicest voice, too. "To do what?"

"Maybe farm," Arthur shrugs, and the way he avoids her eyes certainly doesn't escape her notice. "I dunno. I just go where they tell me we're goin'."

"Your mother and father?"

"Couple of mothers. And Fathers. Or, mother and father figures, I guess."

Mary raises her eyebrows. "I see. You really are quite the family."

"Yeah," Arthur laughs. "That's for sure."

"It's lovely. That you've all found each other."

"Mm," Arthur grunts, looking a bit bashful as he shrugs one shoulder. "I guess."

Mary smiles, absolutely charmed by him. She finishes off her drink, setting down the glass with a clack. "You wanna dance, Mister Morgan?"

Arthur blinks at her, the corner of his mouth curling a bit. "Um. Sure. I'm not much good, though."

"Nonsense. Come on."

She takes tight hold of his hand, pulling him out toward the other end of the saloon where the pianist is on fire, more than a few shots in after a few hours of patrons tipping him with booze. Mary supposes if she wasn't tipsy it would sound a bit rough, but as it is she spins herself around under Arthur's hand. 

"Come on, tough guy!" she teases, laughing when Arthur look surprised at the ribbing. "Show a lady a good time!"

Arthur shakes his head, wrapping his other arm around her waist as they begin to clumsily dance, mostly stumbling and spinning and laughing. Mary is sure that if she could see herself from the outside, she wouldn't recognize herself - clothes dirty, hair stringy from dried rain water, tipsy and dancing in a saloon with a man who would turn her mother in her grave. She loves this person, though, whoever this person is that she is pretending to be. Loves her so much more than Mary Gillis with her neatly plaited hair, pretty inherited dresses and white gloves and the endless line of suitors to decline. Her whole life laid out for her before she was even old enough to have an opinion on it.

Kissing Arthur tastes like freedom and whiskey. Mostly whiskey. He freezes up for the first few seconds, so she pulls on him until he finally gets his act together, sweeping her up in his arms and returning it. Somewhere in the excitement they find a bed, and their clothes find the floor, and she finds her peak (twice) before they finally collapse in a sweaty heap. She lays on her back, now, blankets pulled up to her collar and lazily passing a cigarette over to Arthur beside her.

"Well," she says, grinning when the corner of his mouth quirks. "That was fun."

He laughs, louder than before. Loosened up. "That's a word for it."

"What word would you use?"

"Nothin' I'd dare repeat in front of a lady."

"Oh, please," she teases, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her hand. "If you haven't noticed, I'm hardly polite company."

Arthur's eyes dance playfully as he turned his head to face her, still sprawled out on his back. "An hour ago I might've disagreed. But you've got quite a mouth on you."

Mary snickers, pushing on his shoulder playfully. He doesn't budge, of course. The man is built like a damn house.

"You're an idiot," she says fondly, before moving closer, settling underneath the arm he lifts invitingly. She rests her head on his chest, sighing sleepily and closing her eyes. "But I like you."

"Mm. High compliment from you, I'm imaginin'."

"I certainly don't compliment easy."

Arthur's laugh rumbles in his chest, and Mary smiles as she presses her ear more firmly there to hear it better.


	2. crushed veneer

**MARY**

The morning is gray and chilled. Mary frowns, between sleep and waking, and burrows closer to the warmth beside her in bed. She's already underneath his arm and burying his cold nose in his chest before she remembers Arthur Morgan, and opens her eyes wide.

Oh. Oh, no.

She mouths a silent curse to herself, her heart racing a bit as she remembers that she's in a bed on the upper level of a saloon, after getting drunk and sleeping with a man with at least four parents and whose job was described as "a wanderer." She's done some foolish things in her time, in the name of rebellion, but this may just take the damn cake. She sits up a bit, brushing her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and glances down when Arthur grunts half-awake at the movement. His eyes open to slits, and one look at them has Mary forgetting all her worries like they never existed at all.

She smiles, reaching to brush his wavy, golden-brown hair away from his forehead. He smiles, squinting up at her, the morning light casting a gentle beam diagonally from the edge of his forehead to his jaw.

"Mornin', ma'am."

"Morning to you, too."

Arthur's hand smoothes up her bare side, large enough to cup her rib cage almost entirely. 

"How you feelin'?"

Mary smiles, enjoying the warm touch. "Good. Bit of a headache, you?"

"Not the worst I've had," Arthur grins. "Was too distracted to drink much, I guess."

She hums fondly, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. He tilts his head back, sleepy and pliant in a way that makes a little fire crackle behind her ribs. It hardly takes a thought for Mary to swing a leg over, straddling his hips and lowering herself until they're chest to chest. Arthur makes an appreciative noise in his throat, hands squeezing her hips firmly before roaming up and down her back.

"Mm. Enough of that."

Arthur laughs against her lips. "You're the one crawlin' all over me."

"Hush, you," Mary teases, sitting up but not climbing off of his lap just yet. Arthur just tilts his head at her, smoothing his rough palm up her side and over her stomach. Exploratory. Like he's committing her to memory. The idea makes her feel powerful. 

"What was you doin' out in the rain, Mary?"

She blinks at the question. "Oh. I was...I was getting away from my father."

"Mm?"

"Yeah. He's a drunk."

Arthur makes another, deeper noise, his brow crinkling. "I know plenty 'bout that. Sorry to hear it."

Mary reaches to rub her thumb over the worry lines, smoothing them back out. She only wants to see Arthur smile, she decides. If she can help it.

"Let's get dressed," she says. "I'm starving."

Her clothes are strewn about the room, Mary notes with a smile, and she has to do a bit of hunting to collect all of the pieces. She can feel Arthur's eyes on her as she does, and gives him a playful look as she locates her underwear and steps into them. 

"Close that slack jaw, Mister Morgan."

Arthur abruptly snaps his mouth closed, laughing at her ribbing. "Sorry."

"Just didn't want you drooling all over the bed."

She adjusts her bodice in the mirror as Arthur gets himself ready, having to hunt for his own clothes as well. It's a comfortable, quiet thing, getting dressed together. Sharing space. She's only really had Jamie in her space at home, and that's quite different. Mary has never known what it's like to have a man around that she wanted to keep there.

She is just slipping on her blouse when the door to their room bursts open with such speed it ricochets off the wall. Mary has only a brief moment to think _oh, shit_ before her father is grabbing onto her arm, yanking her close.

"I should have known," he snarls, breath stinking of liquor even at this hour. "Harlot!"

"Daddy, let-"

"What the hell you doin'?" 

Arthur steps forward, like he's going to push Mr. Gillis away, and Mary plants her free hand firmly on his chest.

"Arthur, don't," she insists, pushing if only to get her message across even if it won't stop him. He stops, anyway. "This is my father."

"I don't give a shit who he is, he can get his hands off you," Arthur snaps, glaring at Mr. Gillis as if hoping he'll burst into flames.

Mr. Gillis does let Mary go, but only to start advancing on Arthur with the audacity that only a drunk can muster. Arthur squares up, drawing himself to his full height, and Mary panics.

"Daddy," she gasps, taking his arm. "Daddy, I'm sorry. Take me home, now."

Mr. Gillis rounds on her, and she forces herself not to flinch. "Miserable nuisance you are, you'll be lucky if I let you set foot inside my house again!"

"Someone needs to help you with Jamie," she reasons, voice even. "You need me for that. Take me home, please. I want to go home."

She can feel Arthur's eyes boring into the side of her head but she doesn't look, holding her father's gaze and her breath at once. Finally, he grunts, turning toward the door, and she relaxes.

"Come on, then. Don't make me regret this, girl."

"Yes, daddy."

Mary buttons the rest of her blouse quickly, glancing at Arthur. She feels a pang in her stomach, wanting to at least kiss him goodbye or even squeeze his hand, but all she can do is stare. Hope she can transmit the oddly large emotion weighing on her heart to him. 

"Goodbye," she murmurs, before hurrying out the door.

* * *

Mary stumbles as Mr. Gillis pushes her over the threshold into the house, watching him warily as he locks the door firmly behind them. He turns to her, cheeks flushed with drink and anger. 

"You are not to leave this house," he says blackly. "Unless I say so. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"I will not have you sullying our family name with your antics. You will behave or I will leave you to that saloon to support yourself as a working girl."

Mary nods once, tense. Mr. Gillis, doesn't lash out, not this time, though. Taking the opportunity before he can change his mind, Mary ducks into her bedroom and shuts the door. She presses her back against it, taking a few deep breaths with her eyes closed. Once she is sure no one will follow her she straightens, catching sight of herself in the mirror when her eyes open again. She looks...well. She looks like she slept with someone last night. She approaches the mirror slowly, taking in her hair half out of it's braid and frizzy, her makeup long sweated away, her clothes wrinkled and sloppily tucked. Pulling aside her collar she finds a faint, purple-brown love bite. 

Slowly, she smiles, until it is occupying all of her face. After another moment of admiring her disheveled state, she gets to work putting herself back together again.

After she has bathed and dressed in new clothes she is brushing out her hair seated on her bed, slowly and going over the same spots several times as her thoughts distract her. Arthur Morgan is a hard man to forget, she is realizing. Tall, broad, handsome, funny and kind to go along with it. She smiles to herself, feeling like a teenager as she fights the urge to full on grin in an empty room. The smiles falls a bit as she realizes now that she's confined indoors, it's unlikely that she'll see Arthur again. He and his odd family are roamers, she remembers, and he had said that they wouldn't be in town long. There is a small knock on the door before she can spiral too far into that line of thought. 

"Come in."

The door cracks open and in slips Jamie, his big eyes wider than usual. She frowns at him.

"Daddy being loud out there?" Jamie nods quietly. "Alright, you come over here."

Jamie scurries over to the bed, hauling himself up and scooting to sit beside her. 

"Why's he gotta be so loud for?"

"Daddy gets angry sometimes and doesn't have anyone to talk about it with," Mary says, looking at him in the mirror as she continues to brush out her tangles. The corner of her mouth quirks as she watches Jamie's eyes follow the progress of her brush.

"He's scary."

"Sometimes."

It's quiet for a bit, Jamie eventually getting bored watching the brush and climbing down to locate a toy horse he'd left behind the last time he sought refuge in Mary's bedroom. He sits on the floor, legs crossed, as makes the horse gallop across her sun-bleached rug. 

"What did you get up to today, then?"

Jamie looks up at her. "Nothing. Drew some pictures. Explored outside."

Mary hums, frowning a bit. They only recently moved to this town, and she isn't sure quite how safe it is yet for Jamie to be out wandering on his own.

"Try to keep the exploring for when I can come with you, okay?"

Jamie glances at her, confused, before understanding dawns on his face. "Oh. Sorry. I know you like doing that, too."

Mary smiles. "I do. So just wait for me, next time, okay?"

"Okay."

She nods, leaning over to the side and swiftly braiding up her hair. She has Jamie's attention again, laughing as he watches, enraptured. "I'll teach you how, one day. When your hands are bigger."

"My hands are too small?" he asks, looking down at them.

"Yeah. You have to be able to hold all the pieces."

"Oh."

"Soon, though. Next couple years, probably," she says, "they'll get big enough. And then I'll make you braid my hair for me all the time."

Jamie shrugs, always an easy-going kid. He's difficult to tease. Although, Mary supposes that's probably a good thing. She ties off the braid, and gets to her feet. 

"You had lunch yet?" Jamie shakes his head. "Alright, let's go. I'll make you something."

Jamie grins eagerly and scrambles to his feet, hurrying out the door. Taking a breath, Mary follows after.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on twitter @comefeedthrainn - come hang out!! This fic series also has a playlist! Peep it here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cHJlDvjj5n0eq04MoWlIu?si=p7Uwm1EHTeCLGBS-oVuv2A


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